So I'm supposed to see my therapist tonight -- what, you didn't know I was in therapy? For God's sake, I'm single, American, 31, smart, from the East Coast, a quasi-yuppie, live in a major metropolitan area, own cats... of course I'm in therapy. It's the law, isn't it?

Anyway, I'm supposed to go see my therapist tonight, but I'm not entirely sure she'll be there because she's pregnant. Heavily pregant. Due-last-week pregnant. If-she-doesn't-pop-today-they're-gonna-induce pregnant. That kind of pregnant. Which is somewhat daunting. I have trouble with the whole therapy thing because, this blog nonwithstanding, i don't like talking about myself to begin with. What the hell sort of gall do you have to have to continue rattling on about yourself when someone's liable to to start contracting right in front of you? Yeah, fine, it's supposed to be "my time," but who the hell cares -- she's about to give birth! To her first child! This is a bg deal -- much bigger than anything I have to say, I'd figure.

And how exactly do you deal with it?

Shrink: So how does that make you feel?
Me: Well, blah blah blah, sniffle, blah blah... hey. Why are you looking at me funny?
Shrink:: Oh, nothing, I just felt an unusual pain. Go on....
Me: Whatever. Blah blah me me me blah me blah...
Shrink: Ow. I hate to interrupt here, but I think my water may have broken.
Me: What are you talking about? You'll probably be in labor for hours, and we've got 20 minutes left in my session. So I was saying, me me blah blah blah.
Shrink: (Breathing heavily) No, no , I think I should really get going. The contractions are coming pretty quickly now...
Me: What. Ever. Cross your legs. Clench or something. This is all about me, and I've got issues!

Update: Saw shrink, no babies birthed. Whew.